


The Bells of Combarro

by leftennant



Series: Darcyland April Fools Smut Challenge Fics [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, ShieldShock - Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bike Horn, Color Change Soulmate Trope, Crack, Day Four, F/M, Fluff, ShieldShock - Freeform, Smut, Soulmates, Wedding Night Pranking, dlafsmutchallenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:19:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftennant/pseuds/leftennant
Summary: Murder isn't usually a wedding night activity, but then again, removing five hundred bells from under the bed isn't either.  (or the one where Darcy and Steve have to get inventive after their friends boobytrap the hotel room on their wedding night)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Day four of the Dlafsmutchallenge! This one had to include a bike horn, and I decided to inflict said bike horn(s) on Steve and Darcy. Woo! As always, this is an April Fools challenge so the crack is strong with this one. It's also based on a real thing my grandfather's friends did to him and my Nonna on their wedding night. Beta'd by the talented and amazing Amidtheflowers.
> 
> ************************************************

Finally. The ceremony was over, the words were said, and Steve had his soulmate alone. It had been a shock to find out he had two. The world had been nothing but gray since he’d lost Peggy, gray grass, gray sky, gray taxis on grayer streets. Then Darcy walked into the dingy diner where Steve was sketching a building across the street, black lines on white paper, and his world exploded into color once more.

She had chestnut hair, blue eyes, a long turquoise sweater over bright yellow leggings. Brown leather boots were on her feet, and when her eyes met his, Steve could see the wonder in them as her world filled with colors too.

“I had to do push-ups because of you. I ran laps. Crunches, _god_ , the crunches. I hated you,” she said, still standing a few feet away from where he was sitting stunned in his booth. “You have no idea how much I hated you. Fyi, I drew a mustache on your face in the posters...and horns. Big ones.”

Steve grinned. “I’m sure you weren’t the only one. I’d introduce myself, but it seems a little late for that.”

“Well, I’m Darcy,” she replied. “The girl you used to torture in tenth grade P.E., and your soulmate apparently. Sooo, got room in that booth for one more?”

He did. Five minutes later she was twirling the salt shaker, and stealing his heart. Steve had forgotten how it felt. The rush of feelings that accompanied the first time a person saw their soulmate, the way light seemed to create a halo around them, and how time appeared to pause indefinitely as everyone on the outside went about their business like something incredible wasn’t happening right in front of them. 

Forgotten was the wrong word, though. Truthfully he’d buried it. There had been so much pain in his previous soulmate connection. So much loss. So few happy times. The good moments had been so few and far between that Steve had tucked them away, refusing to look at them and relive the hurt that came with them.

There was some of the bittersweet in finding Darcy. It meant letting go of what had come before. He felt guilty over that. How could he possibly let go of Peggy? Then Sharon stepped in, serving both coffee and advice one afternoon in the common room.

“You don’t have to do this to yourself, Steve. Aunt Peggy would want you to be happy. You know, we talked about it a few times. It was devastating for her when you went into the ice, but eventually she got on with her life, had children, built SHIELD. I think you have a chance to rebuild here too. If I were you, I’d take a long hard look at whatever is holding you back, and then put it to bed. You don’t need to feel guilty about the universe deciding maybe Steve Rogers deserves a little happiness and peace in his life. Not when Peggy Carter would be the first one to tell you to take it.”

It was the kick in the ass he needed. After that the guilt began to subside, and his memories of Peggy became less difficult to bear. They were still important to him, but they were in the past. Sharon was right. He had been given a second chance, and he’d be a fool to stand in his own way.

Months went by. Steve got to know his new soulmate more with each passing day. She was smart, outspoken, loved to laugh. Her sense of humor was only eclipsed by a depth of compassion that sometimes took him by surprise. Darcy had a knack for knowing just when he needed quiet and comfort. She also figured out how to push all his buttons pretty early on, both in the bedroom and in other ways. They didn’t fight often, but when they did, it was _loud_. Probably because they both had a stubborn streak a mile long, and his tendency to go cold in anger was only matched by her tendency to go hot.

He fell in love with her pretty early on too. Desperate love at first. Lust-fueled love. The kind that burned up the sheets, and knocked pictures off the walls. That eventually spilled into something deeper, fiercer. Their soulmate bond shined through all of it, a connection stronger than steel, flexible and unbroken.

Steven Grant Rogers asked Darcy Elizabeth Lewis to marry him one year to the day they met. He proposed outside what had been the diner, because when they got there he saw it had been turned into a dry cleaners, and their booth was long gone. She accepted anyway, standing on the pavement with a smile on her lips, and tears spilling from her eyes. Her ‘yes’ rang in his ears for days. It was everything.

 _She_ was everything. And now she was all his. Vows said, guests greeted, reception finished in a flurry of excitement and laughing as they made their way up to the hotel suite they were staying in for their honeymoon.

The European destination wedding had been Darcy’s idea. The location had been Steve’s. He’d picked Combarro, Spain. It was somewhere he’d always wanted to see, and there were no memories there to haunt him, not like in Italy or France. So they picked a small, family-owned hotel, rented out the entire thing, and flew across the Atlantic with their guests in tow.

In retrospect, Steve wondered if maybe they should have eloped instead. There was something fishy going on with their friends. He could tell at the reception. Bucky was grinning just a little too much. Thor disappeared around the time the cake was being cut. Clint disappeared too, but later, during the dancing. 

So did Natasha.

And, come to think of it, where had Sam been in the receiving line? Steve didn’t remember seeing him there.

Steve had been too busy with his bride to focus on all of this while they were still at the reception, but as they made their way upstairs to their room, his brain started to add everything up. Unfortunately for his brain, Darcy started kissing him on the landing, and Steve decided that was more important than wondering what the hell kind of trouble his friends might have been getting up to.

The mistake in this became rapidly apparent when they worked their way across the threshold, through the small sitting room, and into the bedroom. Darcy was in his arms by this point, legs tight around his waist. She was still in her wedding dress, he was still in his tux. His plan was to fall into bed just like that, and figure out the clothes situation once they were there. 

It seemed simple, and it _was_ simple. Until, that is, they actually hit the bed and were serenaded by what sounded like every bell in Combarro jingling in chorus. Darcy froze, forehead furrowing into a look of disbelief.

“I’m sorry, but is the bed jingling?” she asked. “No, scratch that. The bed is definitely jingling. I think a better question would be _why_ is the bed jingling?” Without giving him a chance to answer either question, and Steve had a pretty good notion of why the bed was jingling and who was behind it, Darcy wriggled over to the side of the mattress, pulled up the quilt, and ducked down to look. Seconds later he heard her swear under her breath as the answer to her question became apparent. “Holy shit. There are like, five hundred tiny bells wired to the bed. I’m not even exaggerating. If anything, there might be more. What the fresh fuck?”

What the fresh fuck indeed. Except Steve thought he knew _exactly_ what the fresh fuck. He loosened his tie and pushed off the bed, kneeling down to have a look for himself. Darcy was right. There were at least five hundred bells, maybe more. Each one was painstakingly wired to the metal slats of the bed frame. Removing them would take all night, which was the point. God _damn_ it. There could only be one person responsible for this.

“Bucky,” he muttered.

Darcy turned to look at him, still upside-down, and sighed. “Really? Bucky did this?”

“Well, I’m sure he had help, but yes.”

“I see. Hey, question, how opposed are you to murder on our wedding night?”

“I was just going to ask you that,” Steve replied.

She sat up, legs tucked somewhere beneath the skirt of her wedding gown. “I love how we’re always on the same page. Must be a soulmate thing. Anyway, I’m gonna go out on a limb here, and say the bed is off limits unless we want to announce to everyone in Combarro that we’re getting busy.”

“It looks that way,” he said with a sigh. “I could start unwinding them if you want.”

“Or,” Darcy said, giving him a sly look, “we could go utilize that couch I saw on the way in here. Betcha ten bucks that it doesn’t jingle, _and_ it’s a flat surface. Two strong marks in its favor, right?”

“Did I ever tell you that I find your ability to problem solve in a crisis very sexy?”

“Once or twice,” she told him. “Want to show me just how sexy you find it in there on the couch?”

Steve grinned at her. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Super. Race you there, Rogers.”

No racing happened. Mostly because he decided to finally get her out of her wedding dress, and that led to other things. Like stumbling into the next room with Darcy trying to unbutton his shirt while simultaneously palming him through his tux pants. Not that Steve was complaining. If his wife wanted to multi-task, then he was going to support it. That’s what good husbands did.

Darcy somehow got his suit jacket, and his shirt off in one go. He had both hands on her ass, she had one leg hitched up over his hip. Steve dropped backwards onto the couch, pulling her into his lap and…

Darcy jerked upright in his lap, staring at him. “Okay that was not me. I have made a lot of noises while screwing around with you. Some of them very loud, a few of them fairly unique, but I have never, _ever_ honked.”

Steve’s head dropped back against the couch, eyes closing in frustration. “No. I know it wasn’t you. Fucking Bucky. And fucking everyone else who helped him.”

“Want to move over one cushion?” she asked.

“Worth a shot,” he responded, although he had a feeling it wouldn’t help.

It didn’t. If anything, it was worse. The move to the middle of the couch was followed by a double honk, and the raucous sound of a whoopie cushion deflating. 

“That wasn’t me either,” Darcy assured him. “How are those plans for murdering our friends coming along?”

“Oh they’re coming along,” Steve said. “Believe me. Do you know which suitcase we packed my shield in?”

“Yes. Want to attempt moving over again, or are we calling the couch a loss?”

Steve reached over and flipped up the last sofa cushion. Carefully sewn to the underside with tiny stitches were three bike horns, and a turkey call with a pump attachment. “It’s a loss.”

“Your shield is in the big blue suitcase with the grey piping. So is my taser. I say we go for variety, and use both. Sub-question, does Bucky’s arm conduct electricity?”

He snorted. “Good question. Want to test it out?”

“No. I want to have lots of wedding night sex with my husband, but I’ll settle for tasing his idiot best friend if that’s all that’s available right now. Is it, or do you have any other ideas? Please tell me you have other ideas.”

“I…” Steve paused, taking stock of the room. Tiny console table, antique writing desk with hopelessly fragile legs, equally fragile looking end-tables, and… “How do you feel about unconventional?”

“Um. Have you met me? I live for unconventional. That desk will never survive us, though, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not even sure how it’s standing on those legs.”

“Not the desk,” he said. “More along the lines of the wall.”

Darcy licked her lips, suddenly very, very focused. “Wall in here, or wall in the shower?”

“I was thinking we could start in here, and see where it went,” Steve replied. “If you want, that is.”

“If I _want_? Are you even serious right now?”

“What? I’m just being a gentleman,” he said, lips twitching. “It’s important to respect your partner, give them choices, share the decision-making…”

“Oh my god,” she cut in. “Stop smirking at me and take your pants off, smartass. We are wasting precious wall time.”

Steve had them both up in a second, the rest of his clothes off in five, and Darcy against the wall just as she was tossing the rest of hers in the direction of the bedroom. He let his eyes drift down, slowly drawing his gaze back up over her curves before saying, “How’s this?”

“So far so good,” she teased. “What are you going to do for you next trick?”

“Well, I was thinking maybe I’d pick you up.” He slid his hands down over the swell of her bottom to cup her thighs, and used the leverage to hoist her against the wall. “Wrap your legs around me.” Her lips parted as he did just that, tongue slipping out to wet them. “And then...”

“Then?” she asked.

In answer, Steve drew his hips back, giving himself enough room to reach down and take himself in hand. “I thought I might do this.”

He circled her entrance for just a moment, feeling how slick and ready she was for him. Their eyes met, and he stopped teasing, pushing into her with a single slow stroke.

“God,” Darcy said, exhaling shakily. “That’s a good trick.”

“Glad you like it,” he replied. “Seeing as how you agreed to be my wife, and I plan on doing an awful lot of this in the future.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, taking his face in her hands, and angling it down for a kiss. “Me too.”


End file.
